


Foundling Son

by triedunture



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Daddy Issues, Embarrassment, Lectures, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Unrequited, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 20:52:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5884765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/pseuds/triedunture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which General Washington attempts to protect his military family, especially his Hamilton, and finds himself in the unenviable position of being both the morally upright father and the abettor in their various transgressions. </p><p>In other words: Washington's not a regular dad, he's a cool dad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foundling Son

The day being balmy and clement, it was decided by the General that he would take his lunch of cold ham, tongue, and hard biscuits out of doors with Colonel Hamilton and the Marquis de Lafayette. This picnic was intended—no doubt with a mind towards the most gentle care of that military family which the General gathered 'round himself—to give both young men a chance to enjoy the bracing air of the country fields in which their army had most recently encamped. Lafayette was still recovering from the wounds he'd incurred at Brandywine, where Washington had carried him from the battlefield in his own arms, shouting for his personal doctor to attend at once. "Treat him as if he were my son," the General had ordered the physician, all the while ignoring the Frenchman's protests (which weakened in accordance to the volume of blood staining his blue cutaway coat) that the injuries were but a "trifling matter." Now much improved in health and spirits, Lafayette still wore his left arm bound in a sling of clean white linen, the sight of which caused no little anxiety in the General and prompted him to always be inquiring after his recovery. 

Hamilton, though he had suffered no harm on the battlefield thus far, would nonetheless find his mind much soothed by a moment's rest, Washington felt. It was not an easy thing to convince his young aide-de-camp to join the small party; the General had to allow Hamilton's lap desk and a pot of ink to be included in the provisions, as Alexander insisted that they might find themselves desirous of jotting down a few notes in the course of the afternoon. Washington very much doubted that, at least on his own part, but indulged the request anyway. 

The place was a remote one in the northern woods of New Jersey, a verdant patch of grass overlooking a splendid little waterfall that threw rainbows of color all along the rocky cliff face. Washington directed a rough length of canvas—Connecticut-made, as were most of the fabrics used by the troops, at Hamilton's insistence—to be spread upon the ground in a most pleasing spot: a flat place devoid of sharp rocks and mud, surrounded and shaded by several leafy trees, and close enough to feel a faint, cool mist of water from the falls when the wind shifted minutely in their direction. The simple repast was set out, Lafayette was helped from his horse, and places were taken in an informal manner, the younger men sprawling inelegantly across the blanket while Washington seated himself with his back against a sturdy poplar trunk. The view of the falls was so grand that the General and Lafayette spent near a quarter hour sitting in contented silence, watching the spectacle of nature unfold before them. When Washington turned to observe his aide, he found Hamilton not in deep contemplation of the falls, but sitting knot-legged with a pencil stub in hand, scratching out some lines on a scrap of paper held against his thigh. Apparently he could not fathom the wait of unpacking his lap desk from his horse. 

Washington suppressed a sigh before catching the dancing eye of Lafayette, who had also noticed their companion's complete lack of regard for their surroundings. They shared a look of understanding so total, so wordless, that Lafayette could not contain his high yelp of mirth. Only then did Hamilton look up and take note of them. Washington perceived the pain of betrayal in the young man's visage, which is unique to those who feel slighted by the mocking laughter of two against one. 

"Have I done something to inspire ridicule, sir?" Hamilton asked even as his face pinked like a maiden's. (Washington often wondered at the delicacy and battle-hardened coolness that somehow existed simultaneously in the man.)

"My Hamilton," Washington hastened to say, smothering any hint of a smile, "the Marquis and I merely look upon you fondly and with steadfast wonder. Even here, in what is surely an increasingly rare moment of peace, you cannot stop _writing_." 

"You are not a good picnicker, Jambon," Lafayette said more bluntly. He reached for the cold ham with his uninjured arm and helped himself to a slice, eyes twinkling as he chewed. Washington gave him an indulgent nod; though he could scarcely approve of puns, he did appreciate Lafayette's much-improved attempts at the English language, these being entirely for the General's own sake. Washington's French was very poor, and he had neither the time nor inclination to practice it. Though Lafayette might happily converse in his native tongue with Alexander—who was quite fluent—he deferred to his General's preference in most instances, which warmed Washington considerably. 

Hamilton, however, seemed very wounded at this jibe—his eyes hardening as they did when an older commander commented on his youth and inexperience—and he folded up the scrap of paper in his hands with the intention of secreting it away in his shirtsleeve. Washington saw that a kind word might be in order. 

"Come now, share your thoughts with us. What has arrested you so?" He held out his hand, and Hamilton, after a moment's hesitation, reluctantly placed the paper there. Washington unfolded it and cast his eye over it, but the meaning of the small diagram escaped him. 

"I don't understand. A carriage, perhaps?" Lafayette asked, leaning familiarly over the General's shoulder to look upon it as well. 

Washington was glad to be saved the trouble of declaring his own ignorance, and merely raised a brow in a gesture that was calculated to encourage Hamilton's swift response. 

"No, no, it is a means of manufacturing textiles by first harnessing the power of water such as this," he said, waving a hand at their pretty waterfall. Lafayette made a noise which, in any language, could convey his meaning: confusion and not a little skepticism. Alexander, turning his attention to the General and marking him as his true audience, gained his feet to speak. "Your Excellency, just imagine! The power here is more than that of a man's strength, more than a dozen men. Whole reams of broadcloth could be made in mere hours if we could only conceive of a conveyance for this natural power." 

Lafayette, plucking at the canvas upon which he sat, fixed Hamilton with a look of intense fondness. "Why, Ham, your obsession with cloth grows daily. Do you envy Mulligan, then, and wish to take his place as our tailor-spy?" 

Hamilton groaned. "It doesn't _have_ to be textiles. That is just one lucrative example. There is also lumber to think of, and metalworking. Perhaps even foodstuffs—" 

"Colonel," Washington said quietly. 

"Sir?" 

"Eat." He motioned to the spread of food.

Hamilton attempted another tack, clearly hoping to appeal to Washington's agrarian sensibilities. "Perhaps I am not explaining well enough. Imagine a mill's water wheel, but instead of a circular motion, the flow would be directed in a more forceful torrent—" 

Wordlessly, the General pushed forth the plate of tongue and biscuits, still valiantly keeping the grin from his mouth, lest his sensitive aide take offense again. 

With only a small sigh to signal his deep disappointment, Hamilton seated himself at the little picnic once more. "Thank you, sir," he mumbled, and took his food, it seemed, without tasting it. 

Washington waited until the end of their meal there, when Lafayette was preoccupied with seating himself on his mare one-handed, to speak a few words to Hamilton privately. "Do not think I am discouraging of your many enterprises, my Hamilton," he said as he helped fold up the canvas. "While my mind is preoccupied with a singular purpose, and shall be until this war ends, I know yours does not share that shape."

"Sir!" His cheeks were rouged scarlet now. "I assure you, our war and its desired outcome are always in my thoughts! I never—" 

"This is not an admonishment," Washington said softly. "Thoughts of a time to come, when the war is won and the country is ours to mold, are necessary and worthy. Yours is a rare mind which can bend to both the task at hand and those dreams which escape others. Never forsake that, for I will always be in need of it."

The flush now extended down Hamilton's beating throat, which bobbed with some untold emotion. "Of course, Your Excellency." 

Washington hefted the heavy cloth over his shoulder before Hamilton, who was much smaller, could offer to do the same. "And Hamilton?"

"Sir?" 

"Do rest that mind of yours when it is convenient." Now the secret smile that had threatened all afternoon made itself manifest, and Washington allowed it this once. "That _is_ an admonishment."

Hamilton saluted him, not at all sloppily, and said, "I will endeavor to follow my commander's wise orders in this and all else."

__________________________

The war continued. Lafayette recovered and cast off his sling. The army marched, learning that skill and others at the behest of Baron von Steuben. John Laurens returned from the south, full of news and eager to drink in all that Hamilton, his beloved compatriot, had to say. In this way, Washington's family, his boys, survived to see another summer.

The season was a brutal one. Sentries who did not shed their uniforms risked expiring in one hundred degree heat. Washington's current rooms, situated on the second floor of a modest farmhouse, suffered from a stifling, motionless air that caused him great headaches. Sleep was an impossible goal, forcing Washington to sit at his desk at night with the stock and cuffs of his shirt undone, scratching out unending lists for Hamilton to tackle in the coming days. It seemed that the limit of the young man's capacity for work had not yet been found, for Washington had become increasingly dependent upon his talents in all areas of his campaign. 

It occurred to the General that Hamilton was most likely awake as well, as it had been his wont since encamping here to stay up late into the night, sometimes until dawn, writing or reading by candlelight. The previous night, Washington had heard the clock strike three in the morning alongside the steady scritch of his aide's pen nib, a now-familiar sound that he could pick out from the myriad noises of a groaning house filled with sleeping men. He had personally seen Hamilton to his bedroll upon the floor at that time, Lafayette and Laurens having already established themselves in the one available bed in their shared quarters. (It was the unfortunate case that his aides were now quite used to the cramped rooms, though Washington couldn't fathom how they managed to sleep soundly in this heat while in such close proximity. He dearly missed Mrs. Washington's wintertime company, but he did not think he could bear a bedmate in this season.) At any rate, it fell upon the General to ensure that Hamilton was not burning every candle in the place down to its nub for the second night in a row.

Eschewing his banyan as an unnecessary hindrance in the warm night air, Washington quit his chamber and crossed to the aides' quarters directly opposite. When he opened the door, however, he found no bleary-eyed Hamilton at his desk, no slumbering Laurens or Lafayette. The room was empty, the bedclothes and bedroll tidy and unused. 

Fear crept into Washington's heart with icy fingers. The treachery of Arnold was still a fresh wound to him, and the thought of some other spy within his ranks who might be capable of absconding with his most trusted staff— It was intolerable. And yet, as it always must be with Washington, the fear was soon marshalled by a steady calm. It would not do to sound an alarm if there were to be a simple explanation for the absence of his three young men. A cursory investigation, at least, would be advisable before the torches were lit and battalions armed. 

He exchanged his slippers for his riding boots and crept from the quiet house, having no desire to wake the other generals, brigadiers, or the Baron. He took only an oil lamp as he departed, thinking he would have no need of a weapon save for his bare hands should the need arise. The fields surrounding the farmhouse were bathed in silvery light from the moon, for it was on the wax and nearly full. For a moment, Washington stood just without the house's veranda and listened to the nighttime sounds: birds cooing, the flap of bats' wings, a distant howl of some strange animal….

No, it was human laughter. The General picked his way carefully down a sloping hill toward the noise, keeping his footfalls light upon the leaves. He dimmed the lamp to its limit as he approached, not wishing to give away his position. After making his way slowly through a stand of spindly trees, he found himself at the bank of a narrow river, barely more than a creek. He cupped his hand over the warm glow of his lantern and beheld the welcome sight of his errant boys, swimming in the water like a family of otters.

Their breeches, stockings, and shirts were cast on the riverbank some distance away in a haphazard pile, and it was apparent that they were all three bathing in the nude. It was not uncommon for Washington's troops to avail themselves of a river in such a manner, especially in hot weather such as this, and so the General thought nothing of it. He only looked upon the three friends with tender affection in the knowledge that Alexander had at last taken his advice and allowed himself a brief respite from his duties. Washington was satisfied, and would have turned back to the farmhouse unnoticed, but he lingered just a moment—selfishly, he admitted—to watch his young men frolic in unfettered joy. 

Hamilton in particular was a strong swimmer, a fact with which Washington was well-acquainted. The previous spring, Hamilton had fallen from a skiff while escaping the Redcoats with a handful of their secret documents obtained at great cost. The other men in his party had abandoned the boat as well, declaring that Hamilton had been lost in the rapids and was surely drowned. Washington had spent an agonizing three hours in the belief that he'd lost his right-hand man, too grief-stricken to even lift his pen and write a letter of condolence (and to whom would he even send such a missive?). Hamilton, however, had appeared in camp that evening, soaking wet and breathless but still very much alive. "They cannot drown me, Your Excellency," he had said even as he trembled with cold. "The enemy will have to devise some other, better way of taking my life, I fear." The documents were in his hands, wrapped in oilskin, and these he proffered to the General with some measure of dignity. 

Washington shuddered to think how close they'd come to losing Hamilton then, and he was gratified to see the young man's aquatic talents being put to a far more pleasant use now. He swam with pretty grace, cutting through the moon-flecked water and plunging Lafayette below the surface with playful exuberance. Laurens, too, took part in the game, splashing his companions while calling out some exhortion in French. Hamilton and Lafayette responded in that tongue and laughingly turned their attacks on poor Laurens. Their hair had been released from their clubs, loose on their faces and necks in wet tendrils. Though he was not normally one for poetry, Washington couldn't help but be reminded of certain verses he'd learned as a boy, particularly those concerning Grecian martial beauty. A quiver of a smile touched his lips, and he very nearly turned away then, but was kept rooted to the spot by what he saw next.

All three stood in a portion of the small river where the water rose just to their waists, and it was there that Hamilton captured Laurens in a fierce embrace, saying something in French that sounded, to Washington's ears, like a threat. Laurens responded with a groan and clasped Hamilton to him, his hands dipping beneath the water to grab hold and hoist him ever nearer. Hamilton went willingly, his legs twined 'round Laurens' hips with practiced ease so that he was held aloft by that man's strength alone. Lafayette, seemingly unable to watch from a distance, waded closer and pressed himself to Hamilton's bare back. The trio then fell to each other, Laurens placing his lips upon Hamilton's own and Lafayette tending to that same man's arched neck in the similar manner. These kisses were _not_ , to Washington's great horror, given in brotherly affection, but spoke of the intimate knowledge of lovers. 

"What is the meaning of this?" he roared as his hand fell from his lantern. 

All three looked up at the sudden outburst of voice and light, eyes wide in their panicked faces. Laurens unhanded Hamilton quite unceremoniously, causing him to flail unsupported between his two companions before falling back into the river with a loud splash. Lafayette and Laurens stood in stunned silence as Hamilton struggled to his feet, sweeping his wet hair from his eyes. 

"Sir!" said he. How like him to speak first, Washington thought with strange calm, though it was apparent that his aide knew not what to say. "Sir, we— That is, this oppressive heat—"

"Do not speak to me as if I am a fool," Washington said, and Hamilton ceased speaking. Laurens and Lafayette exchanged worried glances; they seemed not to notice that Hamilton had placed himself slightly before them, as if to shield them should the General attack. The thought made Washington's head pound harder than before and his heart clench for just a moment. Hamilton should have known better.

"Dress yourselves." He gestured wearily to the mound of articles that lay discarded on the ground. 

The three young men obeyed in absolute silence, sloshing from the river with their hands cupped protectively over their nakedness. Lafayette in particular appeared to be tumescent still, but Washington refused to give them a modicum of privacy from his hard gaze. Their right to privacy was forfeit, as was his trust. Hamilton, of all of them, should have _known better_. 

When their clothing was back in place and their hair pulled back from their wet faces, Washington waved Lafayette toward the farmhouse and handed Laurens his oil lamp. "You two, go," he said to them. Turning to the third, he said, "Hamilton, stay." 

Hamilton, disheveled in his hastily applied uniform, stood at attention with only a small nod to indicate that he'd heard the order. Laurens seemed about to protest and even turned back with the lantern aloft, but Lafayette took him by the other arm and guided him away with a quiet warning. The two left the riverbank, casting looks of concern over their shoulders as they went, their eyes pleading with Washington for some sign that their companion would be safe in his care. Washington let them leave without a word. 

The faint light of the lantern receded and then disappeared altogether, leaving Washington and his young charge plunged into relative dark, save for the moonlight that filtered through the tree limbs overhead, casting Hamilton's worried face into something like a marble bust. Washington waited until the last sounds of Laurens' footfalls and Lafayette's quiet whispers faded. Then he cursed loudly and at great length. 

Washington very rarely let his temper overcome his stoic facade. His legendary self-restraint was, after all, one of his few talents in uniting troops under his banner. However, there were times (and this was one of them) when the General could not help but vent spleen, pacing back and forth, shouting out his frustrations in a long string of invectives learned from sailors and soldiers. He cursed Hamilton, he cursed Laurens, he cursed Lafayette, the French in general and America's dependence on them specifically, he cursed the King and Congress, the weather, his headaches, and, once more, Hamilton. Hamilton, to his credit, stood unflinchingly while listening to the General's diatribe, and when it finally died out, he kept his silence. His unblinking eyes stared straight ahead into the dark. 

Pausing to catch his breath, Washington intoned, "Do you have any idea of the damage you might have caused tonight, Colonel?"

"Yes, sir," he said, his voice a bare whisper. 

"Enumerate it for me," Washington demanded, and set to pacing before the boy once more. 

Hamilton swallowed and began in a stronger voice: "I have destroyed any good opinion you may have held for myself and my—" 

"No." Washington clasped his hands behind his back. His pacing did not abate. "Again. Speak truthfully."

Now Hamilton did blink, his certainty wavering. "I...have put my General in an inenviable position such that he must now decide—" 

"No!" Washington stopped before Hamilton and towered over him. "The real damage, Hamilton! Speak it!" 

"I do not know what Your Excellency wishes to hear me say," Hamilton pleaded, "but I will say it along with a thousand other apologies if only—" 

One curt gesture from Washington and Hamilton shut his mouth with a click. The General felt his tiredness creep over him, now that the fires of his rage had been banked into a low bed of cinders. "Your indiscretion," he said, "was so ill-conceived, so absolutely rash, and placed your person in such grave peril. Hamilton, what if a sentry had found you in this unholy tableau? Or a spy?" 

Hamilton chewed his lip. "At best, sir, a scandal. At worst…." He cast his gaze down to his boots. 

"At worst, you would find yourself at the end of a noose, and your name would become a byword for shame. Is that what you desire?" 

"No, sir." A slight pause. "But please understand, John and Lafayette were acting at my direction and are not to blame for the things you saw tonight. Whatever punishment you find fitting, I beg you to place the weight of it on my shoulders, not theirs."

There was that damnable notion of martyrdom again! Washington could not tolerate such talk. "You know perfectly well that Colonel Laurens and the Marquis are established in such a way as to make any public punishment impossible. Such dalliances, for men of their station, are meant to be ignored." His thoughts turned to von Steuben, and he wondered if it was his Prussian influence that— No, best not stir that pot, he decided. "But you, my dear Hamilton…. You would cast yourself upon the first sword you see. I would have thought you to have your vast wits more about you, knowing, as you must, the _unique_ position you hold." It was the closest he'd ever come to broaching the topic of Hamilton's illegitimacy, which he knew to be a painful point for the man, who surely had had no choice in his parentage.

It seemed even this slight allusion was enough to bring an angry flush to Hamilton's cheek. "Sir, my position may be of my own making, but I assure you, I am not so wretched as to inspire only pity. I have transgressed; I admit it. What is to be the penalty for my offense?" 

Only Hamilton would dare invite Washington's wrath in this way. "You were not listening, then, when I said you should be thankful that it was I who found you in such an indelicate situation?" 

Hamilton could only stare at him in wonder. "Sir?" he croaked. 

The close air in the wood was too stifling for such conversation. Washington turned and headed downriver, hands still clasped behind him. "Come, Alexander. Walk with me," he said. His aide followed as ordered, attempting in vain to match his stride and trotting in an effort to keep pace. 

They followed the river for some distance before leaving the wood and climbing a hill. Here, the light of the moon illuminated the canvas tents in the valley below, as orderly in their rows as one could wish. Washington looked upon his army for a moment before speaking again. 

"I would have you answer me plain. You will not lose your place on my staff for your honesty." He spared not a glance to the man at his side, knowing it was sometimes better to speak without one's eyes. "Is there no other manner in which you might...gain your ease?" he asked. "A less dangerous manner, perhaps?" 

Hamilton sounded pained, but answered with his characteristic bravery, however misguided. "None like this." He twitched a strand of loose, wet hair behind his ear. "Sleep will not find me without it." 

No stranger to the hellish throes of insomnia, Washington nodded in understanding. "And your betrothed?" He chanced the smallest look from the corner of his eye.

"Your Excellency, please." Hamilton stared out across the camp, his brow twisted. "There are no words to express the regret I would feel should she discover my defects. My dearest wish is to spare her such heartbreak, now and in our future marriage." 

"You speak like a man who has no plans to abandon these particular weaknesses," Washington said, then amended, remembering Hamilton's flirtations with society women last spring, "or any weaknesses of the flesh." (Martha had known, he realized. She had tried to warn him: "The tom-cat only stops his yowling when offered scraps or other attentions; it matters not from what corner." Wise woman, who should see the truth so clearly etched before her!) "Will you cease, Hamilton?" he asked. 

"I will do as you command, sir." 

Ah, so now he would give his General control over the fate of not just of life and limb, but of his very soul. A pretty mess indeed, one that made Washington wish for his bed. 

"You will _do_ what you will. I can no more order you to maintain a monk-like existence while encamped than I can order a horse to change its markings, or a fish to walk upon land," he said. 

Hamilton ducked his head, but not before Washington observed tears pricking at his eyes. "Am I an animal, then, sir?" 

A blood-soaked battlefield would have been infinitely preferable in that moment. Putting words to anything, deep feelings most of all, had never been his strong suit. Washington placed a hand on his boy's damp shoulder and held fast as he swayed in the night breeze. They were family still, and he was not about to abandon his favorite as another, lesser father had done years before. It was suddenly very important that he impart this. "No, Hamilton, you are no animal. Merely a man touched by sin, as are we all. I, for one, am glad that you are as Providence made you." 

Hamilton's face turned up towards the General's as joy replaced the sorrow there. "Truly?" It was a testament to his great emotion that he had forgotten, for the first time, his customary honorifics. 

"I would not say it were it not true," Washington assured him.

Hamilton gave a happy sob, his mouth opening and closing as if trying to form words that would not come. 

"Fear not," Washington said, hoping to forestall the threat of more tears. "I need you by my side for a while yet, healthy and whole. My only request is that you practice as much discretion as you can muster for the purposes of fulfilling that need. If that fails, I will act as your shield."

"Excellency," Hamilton breathed. His hand came up to rest upon Washington's jaw. The General startled at the touch, with its delicacy combined with Hamilton's callouses from too many hours holding a quill. "My shield?"

"Such as I can be," he answered, dazed, but sprang into awareness as Hamilton rose up on his toes as if to press his lips to the face he held with such reverence. Washington released his hold on his aide's shoulder and took a hurried step back. "What in Heaven is this?"

Hamilton's hands hung between them, now grasping only at air. "I only thought—" He gave his head a little shake. "Have I missed your meaning, sir?"

"My _meaning_?" 

"That you desire me." Hamilton's lips parted. "Have I erred in this?" 

"You have indeed!" Washington sputtered, groping for the eloquence that was normally provided by Hamilton himself. "The affection I hold for you is a father's love for his son. What you propose is the most foul incest!"

Hamilton cast his heated gaze over the valley, anger still in bloom on his cheek. He looked, in that moment, very near to Washington himself at that young age, when his temper was more apt to escape his control. "I have a father, sir. He lives still; there is no need for another." 

"That father is not here to protect you, Alexander," Washington said quietly. "I am." 

For a moment, it appeared that Hamilton would stupidly refuse this offer out of spite, but his face softened and he finally turned back to the General with a contrite expression. "My apologies, sir. You are correct in this, as you are in so many things." He looked toward the ground, face still flushed. "Perhaps someday, if I am lucky and survive that long, you will regard me as an equal. The notion has long been a cherished wish of mine."

"Colonel—" Washington sighed, for there were very few equal to Hamilton's faculties, and Washington was not so pompous as to count himself among them. 

"Sir, please." He held up a hand, and Washington allowed him to continue with a wave. "Tonight I see I still have much to learn from you, and for now, I consider myself most fortunate to enjoy your guidance. You are a parent to us all, and I am glad to be counted in that happy company. It is right and pleasing that you remain unsullied by—how did you fashion it?—the sins of men." 

"I am not a heavenly being, Hamilton," Washington said. "I am mortal, and I have made many errors." He looked upon his young man and felt the swell of temptation in his breast, the urge to make one more error tonight, upon the grass. Hamilton was _beautiful_ ; he knew this, and knew, too, that Hamilton was not his to have. "However, there is a price one pays to lead, and I fear I must strive to be that which is vital for our new nation." 

"An honest man, you mean," Hamilton murmured. His eyes shone with the moonlight. "You may be the first and last of your kind in this country, sir."

"I pray you are wrong." He laid a warm hand on Hamilton's arm once more, a small gesture to prove, perhaps, that their bond was not broken beyond repair by the night's events. "Come, let us return. It is late."

"Sir." Hamilton nodded and led the way with Washington's palm pressed to the small of his back to gently steer him over the fields. 

When they reached the dark farmhouse, Washington escorted Hamilton upstairs. Laurens and Lafayette were still awake, seated on the bed and speaking in low tones when Washington opened the door. They both sprang to their feet at his appearance and said nothing, waiting with harried expressions for news of their friend. No, he realized with a startling stab of feeling, their lover. Of course all three of his boys would test his resolve; at this point in his life, Washington expected nothing less than the most intricate and confounding complications in all matters. 

Not wishing to vex them any longer, Washington ushered Hamilton into the room and shut the door. Laurens appeared relieved at Hamilton's unharmed state while Lafayette kept his gaze riveted to the General as if awaiting further instructions. 

Washington spoke in a hushed voice in deference to the late hour. "I have informed Colonel Hamilton of several important points in the hope that he will serve as a model for you both in certain private aspects. I trust you will listen to what he has to say?"

At their twin nods, Washington held up a single finger to signal their patience and quit the room for a moment. He found what he wanted in the valise in his own quarters, then returned with it. He gave the small pot of ointment to Hamilton, who received it with a scholar's interest. 

"Discretion, gentlemen," Washington told them. "That includes leaving no injuries detectable by your compatriots in the morning. Is that clear?" 

Lafayette seemed unable to parse his meaning, but Hamilton's eyes went wide with understanding in an instant. "Absolutely, sir," he said. 

"No marks, especially about the neck and face," Washington continued. His eyes fell on Laurens, whose open collar exposed one such mark. "From this point onward, I suppose," he amended. Laurens immediately fastened his buttons. 

"And I hope I do not need to stress the imperative for quiet?" 

They nodded again, though Lafayette shot an accusing look at Hamilton, who took grave offense at the insinuation. 

"I am as silent as a tomb," he contended. 

"Ah, yes. That is why we had to venture to the river tonight?" Lafayette needled.

"Lafayette," Washington said sharply. He fought the urge to pass a hand over his tired face. 

"Sir." A smart smack of his heels, as he wore no boots at the moment. 

"You will apply yourself to the problem of the Colonel's noisy inclinations." Must he devise a solution to _every_ conundrum? It seemed so. "I would suggest a clean handkerchief inserted in the mouth."

Hamilton looked ready to protest, and Laurens appeared ready to wake from what was surely a nightmare. What else could such a lecture from his General be? Washington shared his sentiments wholly.

"I'll take my leave of you. Good night, gentlemen," he finally said, and turned to make his exit.

"Your Excellency," Hamilton said with sudden fervor, grasping him by the upper arm to halt his progress, "I believe I speak for the others— Or perhaps not. Yet I would still like to give you my own thanks." He leaned in close, as if his whispers were meant only for the General's ears. "I cannot swear I will be always worthy of your paternal affections, but I will strive as best as I am able to that end."

"That is all I can ask, Alexander. Sleep well." It was only with great difficulty that Washington refrained from placing a kiss atop Hamilton's head, but that gesture seemed too intimate given the charged words that had been already exchanged. He contented himself by covering Alexander's hand with his own where it lay upon his arm and squeezing it meaningfully before they parted. 

He left the room, closing the door behind him, and waited until he heard its bolt slide home before making his way to his own bed and collapsing across the bedclothes, not bothering to undress. 

He listened carefully for some minutes, but his ears could discern nothing more sinister than the shuffle of bodies upon a stuffed mattress and the creak of a bedstead. The thought occurred that he might even sleep soundly now, as exhausted as the interview had left him. It was strangely gratifying to think that just across the hallway, his boys were finding some measure of peace. His cock stirred traitorously at the idea, and his hand stole down his breeches to give it one commanding squeeze. Such things would have to wait. Someday, perhaps, if he survived….

Washington fell into the sweet darkness of slumber, dreaming of lusty sounds muffled in silk handkerchiefs.

**Author's Note:**

> Though, in reviewing the incidents of this fiction, I am unconscious of intentional error, I am nevertheless too sensible of my defects not to think it probable that I may have committed many errors. Please view them with indulgence. 
> 
> Many thanks to [Poose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Poose/pseuds/Poose), who was kind enough to take a look at this and give me wise advice and kind encouragement.
> 
> If you would like to share, you can [reblog here](http://stuffimgoingtohellfor.tumblr.com/post/138547264242/foundling-son-triedunture-hamilton-miranda).


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